


Precedent and Protocol

by Laylah



Category: Last Remnant
Genre: Courtship, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-08
Updated: 2011-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-15 12:06:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for fic_promptly: <i>What exactly is the code of conduct when courting another young man?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Precedent and Protocol

It would be so much simpler if he found himself this taken with a woman, David thinks sometimes. Not that he can picture it—not that he can picture _anyone_ capturing his imagination the way Rush has—but at least then there would be protocol, precedent, some model for him to follow. If there were a young lady who had captured his heart and his imagination, even if she had no title or standing, he would have some idea how to proceed. With Rush...David knows what he wants, but he fears he would be doing Athlum a disservice to pursue his own pleasure above her well-being.

He does his best to keep his distance, even if Rush's smile makes his heart beat faster. Even if he catches himself occasionally composing a few besotted lines in his head. _Beloved, fair of face and light of heart, in thy laughter all my joy is found—_ He is no poet, though infatuation might give him pretensions otherwise. He envies Paris, whose love is threatened by parental disapproval, and Gabriel, whose beloved spurns him for another. He is being melodramatic, David knows, but so long as he doesn't let his emotions override his care for Athlum, he thinks perhaps his private indulgences are forgivable.

And eventually he begins to suspect that he is not hiding his attachment so well as he might.

Blocter, most straightforward of his generals, says, "You'd better not let him get away, huh?" when David is admiring Rush's skill with matched swords. David glances over sharply, brow furrowed, and Blocter coughs into one massive hand. "I mean, uh, you know. It's really good to have him on our side, right?"

Torgal speaks to Rush directly, where he is clearly expecting David to overhear: "Please, stay with him when all this is over. Your presence has been good for Lord David." Rush's answer is easy and enthusiastic, and David tries to guard his optimism even though his heart swells. Rush is happy in Athlum, and Torgal approves of his presence. Both are blessings.

Pagus presses a book into David's hands, one evening as their strategy meeting adjourns. "You should read this," he says. "I think you will find it most instructional." David expects the volume—a history detailing Athlum's state just over a century ago—to include some strategic insights for the upcoming battles, but instead he finds an account of how the marquis at that time never married, adopting an heir and installing his dearest friend in the marquise's traditional suite. The language is plain, perfectly clear in its meaning despite the lack of details, but David reads through it three times before he can put it aside to rest.

The next day he thinks perhaps he will seek Rush out, and at the very least declare his intentions, so he will know whether he has any reason to pursue this infatuation further.

He finds Rush in the gardens, already apparently in the middle of a conversation with Emmy; David hangs back, uncertain whether he should interrupt.

"Slaying a dragon, maybe," Emmy is saying. "That's traditional. Or turning up when he's in trouble and lending your soldiers to his cause."

"Huh," Rush says, folding his arms. "I've sort of already—"

"I think you could probably skip ahead, if you wanted," Emmy says. "All the heroism is supposed to convince him to think highly of you, and I don't think you need to worry—" she stops, looking into the shadows where David waits. "Lord David," she says. She glances from him to Rush and back again, then bows. "Allow me to take my leave, my lord."

"Of course," David says, nodding his acquiescence. His stomach seems to knot, but he's had years of practice at maintaining the appearance of calm. "Rush," he says, taking a step further into the garden.

Rush smiles warmly. "Hey, Dave," he says.

David swallows hard. "It is my hope that you might—" he begins, taking another step.

In the same moment, Rush starts toward him: "I keep thinking I'd like to—"

They break off simultaneously; David smiles helplessly, and Rush outright laughs. They're standing far too close for politeness now, but Rush doesn't back up and David doesn't want to, either. "After you," David says. "You'd like to...?"

Rush glances down at David's mouth for a moment; David's breath catches, and he finds himself leaning forward. "Yeah," Rush says. "I'd like to—do this." He closes the last distance between them and presses his lips to David's in a kiss. His lips are soft, sun-warmed, and the thrill of it makes David's heart hammer in his chest. Rush's eyes shine with delight when he pulls back.

"Rush," David breathes, catching hold of his hand.

"Yeah," Rush says; agreeing, perhaps, with all the things David hasn't managed to put to words. "Your turn. You were hoping...?"

David squeezes Rush's hand in his own. "It is my hope," he says, "that we might do that again."

Rush's hopeful smile turns into a broad, beautiful grin. "Great," he says. "Me too."


End file.
